Just a Hamlet fanfic I wrote as a school assignment.

I sigh, looking up from the wet, ink-filled page. I've been working for about two hours now. The sun is setting and the room is filled with rose colored light. I get up and stretch, walking over to the window, with its shutters flung wide open. The city of Elsinore stretches out before me, glowing in the setting sun. I am in a very gloomy mood, due to the subject matter of what I am writing. I am almost done with it though: the biography of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, and my best friend. It was Hamlet's dying wish that I tell his story, and therefore my life's work. My life's work to tell the truth. It has been ten years since he died, but I can remember it like yesterday. I can still hear the swords clashing, and see Hamlet dying in my arms. I can remember with almost equal clarity the day we first met. I was ten, and Hamlet was nine. My father had just moved to Elsinore after being given a rank in the nobility. I was a shy, small boy, prone to reading, and Hamlet was a loud, brash boy infatuated with swords and heroics. We were complete opposites. Really the only reason we became friends was because Hamlet had none and I was his only choice. Yes, I can remember it so clearly…

      I was sitting under a tree on the grounds of the castle. We had only been there a few days. My father was talking with the king, and I ran off to have some peace and quiet. I was in the middle of reading Homer's Ulysses when suddenly a boy wearing soiled finery came excitedly up to me and said all in a rush, "Hello, I'm Prince Hamlet, though one day I will be king, and I don't know you. Who are you? Would you play with me? Because I have nobody to play with except for Ophelia, but she is a girl, or Laertes, but I hate him because he is an obnoxious swine."
      "Ummm…I'm Horatio." I answered, too caught off guard to say anything else. 
      "And? Would you play with me? Please?" He begged. "I have some wooden swords that I got for my birthday. We could sword fight, and you can be the hero."
      "Ummm…" 
      "Come on! It will be fun." Hamlet exclaimed and ran off, presumably to fetch his swords. 
      I sat there, a bit befuddled by this boy's behavior. He seemed like a bit of an obnoxious swine himself, and I considered sneaking off to avoid having to play with him, but decided that would be dishonest. 
      When he came rushing back with two wooden swords after three minutes or so, I said a bit awkwardly, "you should know, I can not sword fight at all."
      His face fell, and he said in a dejected voice, "Oh." Then before I could begin to hope that he would go away, his face lit up with an idea, and he said happily, "Well then, I will teach you! I am a really good sword fighter. First thing is your stance. You need to stand like this, with your sword like this…."
      And so, for almost an hour, he taught me sword fighting. He was not a bad teacher, though a bit impatient. He also turned out not to be an obnoxious swine, and at the end of the lesson, I kind of liked him. He was outspoken, but kind and smart.

      And so over the months and years we slowly became fast friends. Hamlet taught me sword fighting, archery, hunting, and how to be brave. I taught him diplomacy, caution, and a love of reading. We were both dreamers. We would talk for hours about what we would do when Hamlet became king: how I would be his chief advisor and we would establish peace, conquer all enemies, and make the entire kingdom rich and prosperous. 

      A cold spear of sorrow pierces my heart. All those dreams shattered. My closest friend gone forever. Yes, I can remember it all so, so, painfully clearly….